While play is already under way in Madrid (Hey! That rhymes!), there's something still Halloween-esque in the air.
Troy and I spent quite the summer at TENNIS Magazine. While in title, we were just lowly interns sent on various tasks (like fetching manikin legs), we certainly were professionals in other realms.
Those realms included (but were not limited to): 1. Banter. 2. Fighting about who got to marry Akgul first. 3. Arguing over whether Daniela had eaten 3 or 2 crackers during the year. 4. Lunch breaks in the park (Shakey! Shakey! FRIDAY!) 5. Troy knowing how to do everything and me knowing how to...well, do nothing.
One of those things that Troy was so well-versed on was photoshop. One afternoon I hunkered down next to him in his cubicle and he enlightened me on the world or re-sizing and cutting and pasting. While the words were coming out of his mouth at a slow and intentional pace (so as not to lose me), I felt like Charlie Brown in the fourth row. "Wah wah, wah wah, waaah."
So all of this chatter is leading somewhere, I promise. A few weeks ago, I emailed Troy and told him that I needed his mastery photoshop skills for a blog project (bloject?). Halloween was fast approaching, and I knew that the same hand that crafted FederBear, Mirkadeer and Holy Mother Mary would craft something grand and ghostly for the fall's best holiday.
Alas, Troy delivered. And though I'm a few days late in putting these up, I think that they're well worth the gander.
First, we have Serendaleezza Rice. After a strong 2007, Serena decided to give up tennis - and acting - and go into politics. Currently, she's lobbying for the Bush Administration to make Aneres, her clothing line, the official wear of all government officials.
Second (and last, for now), we have Justine Spears. Justine, too, was so over tennis. Instead of going the way of the law, Justine decided to try her luck in music. Her first hit, "Hand in The Air" was a flop though. Good try JuJu! At least she looks bomb on stage, right?
Saturday greetings all! My parents and I are enjoying Seattle this weekend together, so I don't think I'll have much going on, unless Troy continues to shower me with incredible posts.
Today Mr. Venechanos has a special behind-the-scenes treat for us, with video to boot! Check out his posts over on Steve Tignor's Concrete Elbow blog on TENNIS.com. ("Wild Fires" and "Halloween in Paris".)
I am typing write now in the press tribune at the Palais Omnisports overlooking Center Court. There are no players on court yet. Instead, there are about eight Asian power drummers doing a really loud tribal song. Yesterday there was a group of Cirque de Soleil-esque dancers rolling around in hula hoops to Enya. But stranger things have happened on this court in the last couple of days.
This is the court where Nicolay Davydenko forgot how to serve. It's the court where Richard Gasquet took yet another unlikely win. And it's the court where I sat two rows behind Mirka.
I know, you're in shock. I am too. I probably will be for a while. But let me take you back to the beginning, to a time before I tasted the ambrosia of the tennis gods.
As you already know and will be reminded of for the last time, my friend Will is close with Eric 'Booty' Butorac. Booty lost in the second a couple of days ago in straight sets to the Czech duo of Dlouhy and Vizner. After his loss, we met up with Booty. He is an incredibly nice guy, your typical, down to Earth doubles player. Although, this might just be because he's from the Midwest. I think it's a genetic impossibility to be from the Midwest and not be nice. Unless you're Ed Gein. Although as far as serial killers go, I think he was pretty nice - human skin lampshades aside.
Where was I? Ah yes, Booty. After his loss, he went back to the hotel to shower and eat. In the mean time, he gave Will a ticket to get into the Player's Lounge. This ticket would become my golden chariot. Will got into the player's lounge and I got my own pass and met him in there. It wasn't my first time in the lounge. My first time was uneventful; I saw a few notable players and had an awkward bro-like conversation with Mardy Fish on how Ana Ivanovic is a pretty girl. And yes, he used the term 'pretty girl' rather than 'hot chick.'
This second time was a completely different experience. Over the course of an hour, I saw every player in the ATP Top 20, excluding Federer. Nadal was canoodling with his girlfriend (also a 'pretty girl'). Nalbandian was playing games with a toddler (unsure of the relation). Brad Gilbert was talking with Anne Murray while waiting for Andy. Brad was talking about a Chinese Embassy - conversation which is now null and void.
The French players were out in force as well. Grosjean, Llodra, Clement and Tsonga were all sitting in the same area watching a weird, dubbed movie with Pierce Brosnan. What is it with French players and Pierce Brosnan? Gasquet made a few appearances, he was constantly talkingwith his coach in preparation for his Round of 16 match with James Blake. Although at one point, Gasquet and Baghdatis were chatting. It turns out Marcos speaks great French, a fact I had forgotten.
The precious few Americans left in the tournament also hung out in a group. Once Booty returned, he lunched with the Bryans and even greeted Brad Gilbert. In case you ever run into him, call him 'BG' - it's what his bros call him. Yes, I thought I had made it. This player-saturated lounge was the real deal, the summit of every tennis fan's Mt. Olympus. It turns out it was just base camp.
Will had to leave early to catch an evening flight to Dublin. We said our goodbyes and he gave me the ticket that Booty had given him. It was the same kind of ticket that any member of a player's entourage would get. The same ticket as, dare I say, Mirka would get. I decided to wait until the evening session to use my ticket and in the meantime I enjoyed the Gasquet/Blake match as well as an all-French doubles match. I decided to get to that night's marquis match (Nalbandian vs. Federer) slightly early because I knew seats would be in high demand - in the player's box that is.
I picked a great seat in the third row up. Great view, aisle seat, relatively little obstruction from the protective net - it was a good choice. Soon the entourages started to pour in. Nalbandian's coach and family filed into the front row. French tennis icons like Guy Forget took their seats as well. Still no sign of the courtside icon, Ms. Vavrinec.
Then I heard the clomping of expensive boots behind me. There she was, Mirka, in all her glory. She was extremely tall (not just because of her boots). Her hair was perfectly done and she clutched her ever-present purse in front of her as she chatted with another ever-present girlfriend. I was blinded for a second by her "I love you very much ring." At a few points, we made eye contact. Soon the match started and her boyfriend started to battle it out with his new Argentine rival.
I had a great view of the match and it was a very entertaining one at that. I forgot what the following match up on Center Court would be and I asked the person in front of me what the next match would be. "Haas vs. Youzhny," he answered, "you might want to look next to you." Sure enough, sitting right next to me was the German wonder himself, Tommy Haas.
I decided to get concrete evidence of this event - a way of electronically pinching myself to make sure this wasn't a dream. As you can see in this video, Nalbandian's coach is to the left. I zoomed in on Mirka, although her radiance cannot be captured on film. If you look closely, I zoom across as Tommy is sitting next to me. I thought it would be socially uncomfortable to zoom in on him as he sat next to me.
As the match drew to an end, Tommy left to get suited up for his match. In his vacant seat sat Cedric Pioline's wife who brought along their adorable son. There wasn't very much room, so the kid and share seat space between his mother and I. I knew I was on Mt. Olympus when I had a Pioline on my lap.
We all know how the match ended; Zeus was dethroned. As I made my way slowly down the hallowed peaks of the tennis world, I hope I will come back soon. If not, Mirka and I will always have Paris...
This should be a basic question for any security personnel, anywhere. There is always a Zone 1. It's the same in English as it is en Francais. Zone. 1.
My friend Will, a Minnesota native, is close friends with Eric 'Booty' Butorac - the doubles sensation famous for winning three titles with and later being dumped by, Jamie 'Stretch' Murray. Booty called (haha) and put some tickets on hold for Will at will call (hahaha). The tickets were for Zone 1. Because I am important, I could go pretty much go wherever I wanted besides Gasquet's box - but more on that later. Will's ticket however, had many more limitations. Somehow one ticket could get you into the luxury lounge but still ban you from the elevator. We spent a good portion of the morning testing these boundaries.
But when it came time to actually finding his seats, we learned that Zone 1 will join 'The Twilight Zone' and 'The Zone Diet' on a long list of unsolved Zone mysteries. Every time we asked the personnel where the Zone 1 seats were, we got a different answer. Take the stairs up. Take the elevator down. They're behind the player seats. They are the player seats.
One hour later we found our Zone 1 seats, they were behind the player seats.
We made it just in time to see Djokovic get thoroughly owned by the pastel-clad, suicide inducing (see Marat Safin) Fabrice Santoro. Djokovic looked sluggish on court and indifferent to close calls and great shots. His demeanor during his press conference was actually much improved. He was in good spirits. He admitted he was only at 30% and was still recovering from wisdom tooth surgery. Perhaps the most entertaining part of the conference was the fact that he was wearing a Chicago Bulls sweatshirt.
Nadal followed Djokovic with a routine win over Filippo Volandri. The big event of the day (following Fabri's big upset) was the clash of the French titans: Gasquet versus Tsonga. I was surprised at how fresh Gasquet was on court. He admitted after his loss in Lyon that he probably wouldn't be ready to play in Paris. But he pulled out a great match against Tsonga and seems like a convincing contender for at least a quarterfinal berth. At his press conference, he was flanked by radio press and later bombarded with questions from the French press.
At one point, we made eye contact for what seemed to be eternity. I saw stars, the room got foggy and I swear I heard a Celine Dion song playing in the distance.
But our moment was soon over and I had bigger and better people to investigate, like Mirka. Mirka was in top form tonight. She was talking to her friends, texting on her pink cellphone, flaunting her "I love you very much" ring and simultaneously ignored her boyfriend's match. Her status as a courstide remains intact, fear not.
Then her boyfriend won and said some words.
Although it didn't feel like Halloween, at the end of the night I still felt like the lucky kid with a pillowcase full of candy.
It was my first full day at the BNP Paribas Masters and what a day it was. It was a day of the usual monotonous first round play as well as some doubles disappointments. First up on the chopping block: Janko Tipsarevic. Our favorite 'other Serbian' gave Tommy Haas all he could handle. Unfortunately, it was not enough to throw the German off course for a Shanghai berth. I will give the Serbian the advantage for edgy, borderline-Clement eye wear though.
Our favorite 'other brothers' were playing doubles together. They brought out the best in one another. Jamie played incredible and quick points at the net when it mattered. His older brother showed off his knack for choking. Andy squandered two match points, including a double fault on one.
The most interesting part about their doubles loss was the press conference. Andy was in a foul, borderline rude mood. He started the press conference with a scowl and short answers. He mentioned a car accident briefly and a few questions for specifics followed. Then talk continued about Davis Cup and both of their plans for the rest of their seasons. However brief the discussion of his car accident was, the press jumped on it and created headlines. For some reason, English people in Parisian car accidents just grab attention. (Yes, I went there).
Fernando Verdasco, the 'other finalist' from this weekend, played a strong two sets against Dr. Ivo in his first round match. Karlovic held serve in standard fashion and Verdasco made two flagrant unforced errors to give Karlovic a third set break and eventually the match. A fitting end of a streaky season for the Spaniard.
Rafael Nadal, the 'other major name' to bow out in doubles, also lost in a decisive tie-break with his compatriot Feliciano Lopez. The Spanish duo played their usual brand of 'stay back, attack only when convenient' tennis but managed to pull off several great points, not to mention matching outfits. Because we all know, Rafa will not play doubles with you unless you dress up like him.
Two falls ago, I spent an evening rummaging through my grandma's attic in the Bay Area. It's filled with all sorts of interesting trinkets - mostly from my grandparents' lives growing up and raising a family in Southwest Montana.
After hours of digging, I came upon a roll of four or five worn-down posters. When I unwrapped them I discovered beautiful water colors (prints, not originals...this isn't an "I'm rich, bitches!" story...) depicting a French cafe, the Moulin Rouge, the Eiffel Tower and a beautiful garden. As cheesy as it all sounds, I thought they were beautiful. And though my grandma's love for "Parie" burns on, her possessions have outgrown her fragile home in San Jose.
So I took the posters back to my dorm room in Seattle and piled booked on top of them to begin to flatten them out. A few days later they were on my walls. Since moving to a house last summer, they've traveled with me and have permanently staked their claim as my bedroom decor. I had found the needle in the haystack.
Though not as fancy, Troy's post(cards) from Paris are of similar origin. No, Troy was not discovered in some obscure attic of an 80-year-old woman, but he did take the round-about way to get to where he is today.
Life gives us all second chances and unique opportunities. When Troy first inquired to intern at Tennis Magazine, the timing wasn't right and the match between what he was studying and what the magazine was looking for just didn't mesh. But when Troy pursued the opportunity a second time, things fell into place and he found himself sitting in a New York City office doing odd jobs for editors and creating brilliant depictions of the Holy Mother Mary (Pierce).
(Troy Venechanos illustration.)
Troy is one of those people you meet in life that you know will have impact on everyone he comes in contact with. He dreams of working for the ATP or the WTA and has an odd fascination with Daniela Hantuchova, the Williams sisters and a French boy named Richard Gasquet.
So it shouldn't be surprising that Troy himself is in Paris this fall, "studying" abroad and creating his own postcards of the City of Love. He's been kind enough to provide us with post(cards) from Madrid and Lyon already, and this week he is at the Paris Masters Series stalking Richard...I mean being a 'journalist', all because the cards were lined up just right.
Over the next few days, look for posts from Troy including tremendous pictures and hopefully some raw video. For now, here's the link to my latest Sportingo post (about Hantuchova and Murray) and a link to the ongoing Bhutto crisis in Pakistan.
More from our roving Eurpoean reporter, Troy. Troy is witty as usual in describing the Tier III event he attended in Lyon this week. Along with this post, we'll have pictures and video coming from Troy in the near future both of his experience in Lyon and of next week's Masters event in Paris. Enjoy!
I have never been one to self-diagnose. I can never really pinpoint my symptoms, identify possible causes or gather any possible idea of what malady I could be suffering from. Although since my arrival at the Grand Prix de Tennis de Lyon, my affliction has become abundantly clear: I am suffering from Tier III Shock.
Also known as Tier I Withdrawal, people diagnosed with T3S may suffer from the following:
•Paranoia – The lack of security at what seem like vital check points may have you looking constantly in every direction for streakers and/or German Steffi Graf fanatics. •Confusion – The overwhelming sense of ‘where are the players on all of the posters?’ may temporarily disorient you. Those suffering from this symptom should relax, take deep breaths, and come to terms with the fact that ‘Yes, you are looking forward to the Falla/Gicquel semi-final and you will enjoy that match thoroughly.’ Repeat this phrase as many times as necessary. •Fatigue – Weak, overused legs and general fatigue is also a warning sign. This is usually caused by walking in constant circles around the Center Court complex, looking for secondary show courts that will never be found. •Claustrophobia – The feeling that usually very large spaces are constantly shrinking around you is an indicator of T3S. You may feel crowded by the fact that the nosebleed seats are only ten rows behind the snub-nosed box seats. If you suffer from these claustrophobic fits, close your eyes and imagine yourself in the cavernous Arthur Ashe Stadium. Breathe into a paper bag if necessary. •Indigestion – Eating large amounts of decent food may cause an upset stomach. The affordable, sit down meals at certain Tier III’s are disruptive to stomachs that are used to the expensive bottled water and five pretzels of higher budget tournaments.
I have accepted my illness, dealt with my symptoms daily and am taking the necessary steps towards recovery. These symptoms, however exaggerated they may be, speak to the humongous gap between Tiers on tour. However, lower Tier events like Lyon, do have their advantages over their more privileged peer tournaments.
Information and player accessibility is the main edge. While everyone in Basel was marveling over Federer’s new match record, I was able to get an honest view of the players from the spectators and tournament staff. For instance I learned how well Andy Roddick is received by the French audience. Fans I spoke to enjoy his ‘energy’ and ‘charisma.’ Staff I spoke with say Roddick is actually very nice “for an American.”
When asked about the reaction of Tsonga’s upset over Gasquet, a press handler admitted to being relieved. Apparently Gasquet “is not very nice” and Tsonga is “much more agreeable to work with.” No other opinion was very surprising. The general consensus seems to be that Grosjean is always a crowd favorite and that Santoro is always “great to see on court.” The Gicquel’s and Benneteau’s of the draw seem to be just be filler, players meriting an “Allez!” in the absence of one of the (previously mentioned) favorites.
French players may be the stars of the draw, but French gastronomy is not too far out of the spotlight here. Lyon, not Paris, is the epicenter of pure French cuisine. The Tennis Village of the tournament is the embodiment of this fact. Every sponsor has food. This is not an exaggeration and cannot be stressed enough, as I learned on my quick tour of the village.
Every sponsor, be it car manufacturer or insurance company, has either a restaurant or a bar. You cannot fill out a credit card application without leaving with a glass of champagne. You cannot test drive a car without eating at Peugeot’s brasserie. This tour de force of sponsor handouts and gourmet food sets Lyon apart from any other tournament I’ve seen. If the way to the heart is through the stomach, this event has won the hearts of the French tennis community over and then some.
After the food has been digested and the "Allez's!" have all been shouted it’s easy to see the GPTL for what it is: a small, proud tournament that has successfully infused its home players into its draw and home culture into the tournament. It has been a welcome change from the bright lights and big wallets of the recent Top Tier events. Although having a seeded player make it to the quarters should be more of a priority here, the beat goes on in Lyon.
My prognosis is hopeful. I will drink plenty of liquids, take in next week’s Masters Paris and call the doctor if I’m not feeling well in week or two.
Troy is at it again on semifinal day at the Madrid Masters (or as he calls it, "Quadruple M"). Check out his latest post, complete with pictures:
Things are wrapping up quickly at the Quadruple M this weekend. Nalbandian's run continues as he takes yet another Top 3 victim in Novak Djokovic. Ironically enough, Nalbandian's run is looking more and more like Novak's at this summer's Masters Montreal. Djokovic's game seemed intact all around excluding his serve which disappointed on several key points. It seems he is also suffering something common among the elite Serbian tennis players: burnout. Novak admitted that he felt "really exhausted" during the match and smiled at the prospect of a week off.
Mirka, no stranger to R & R herself, continued her courtside reign this weekend. Last night she spent most of her time on her new pink cellphone and chatting with her friend. Today was no different, although, judging by other's reactions, she seems to have picked up a strange odor today. Too much arroz con habicheula's?
Meanwhile, Mirka's unidentified boyfriend continued to live up to his reputation and seemingly permanent number one seeding during a semifinal routing of Nicholas Kiefer. Kiefer, the only man to play Federer in all four Grand Slams (as recalled by Fed himself), took a respectable eight games off the Swiss. The 6-4, 6-4 victory kept Federer's straight set record intact at this year's MMMM. People have started to run out of things to ask Roger, as the latter part of his press conference was dedicated to his F1 Racing predictions and the whereabouts of Juliette the cow (which he received as a gift for winning the Swiss Open at Gstaad in 2003). Federer admitted the cow was slaughtered.
The Bryan Brothers kept their slaughter of the doubles game alive with a win over the resurgent Argentine team of Nalbandian and Guillermo Canas. There was plenty of belly-bumping and Argentine ball abuse to be had during the entertaining match-up.
Tomorrow's finals should be interesting. Although the number one seeds in both singles and doubles are through (again) this time, it seems like they will all have their hands full. Anyone else smell an upset? Or is that just Mirka?
An amateur's view can always reveal something different: On the professional tennis tour, it's hard to keep up with the daily drama, the wins, the losses and the off-beat commentary of the mostly socially ignorant girls and boys of the world-wide court. This blog attempts to keep up with all that, through an eye that's experienced only the televised world of tennis...a truly amatuer interpretation of a professional tour.
